It is that time of year again, ‘tis the season, ‘tis the season for noun! Inspired by other bestselling Christmas novels about jars, boxes, letters, and sweaters, I decided that I too was entitled to write a Christmas novel featuring the magical powers of a noun.

This is the 7th annual celebration of badly written Christmas adventure. When I started this star studded Christmas tradition, little did I realize that it would become a phenomena that would sweep the multiverse.

Written by Larry Correia. Directed by J.J. Abrams. Soundtrack by Depeche Mode.

Opening Narration by Ron Perlman

In the catacombs deep beneath Oberlin College, a new threat to Christmas arises. An artifact of incredible power, capable of altering the very fabric of reality, has been forged. Made from the tears of a hundred Tumblr feeds, the flannel of a thousand lumbersexuals, the wood pulp of a million unsold Lena Dunham books, and baptized in oil rendered from the blubber of Chris Matthew’s tingly thighs, the Social Justice Noun was born.

For Tim, a routine trip to the mall turns to terror. Each time the Social Justice Noun is activated, the world is further twisted toward its nefarious vision of perfection. Hang on… The script uses the words equality and diversity like they’re bad things.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Equality and diversity sound awesome, until you realize SJWs want “diversity” only as long as everyone is diverse in the exact same approved way and “equality” as long as you’re equally as miserable and bitter as they are.

Okay. Groovy.

Because Christmas. Christmas never changes.

***

From the Prolog

The mob of Social Justice Warriors clustered around their new Social Justice Noun, eager to conquer the world. They’d decided to start in the mall parking lot, because it symbolized decadent capitalism, plus there was a big sale at the Apple store they could hit afterwards.

Unfortunately since all they had was gender studies degrees, the SJWs were completely incompetent, and couldn’t figure out how to turn it on. After a whole lot of crying about the racist neo-colonial patriarchy didn’t turn on their device, eventually one of them had the bright idea to hold a Kickstarter to fund the hiring of someone who could figure out how to operate the Social Justice Noun for them. Their campaign was a huge success and eventually a republican guy named Frank—who had a real job and a STEM degree—showed up, plugged the Social Justice Noun in for the SJWs, got paid, and left. Afterwards the SJWs complained on Twitter that Frank failed to provide them with a trigger warning before plugging the MALE power cord into the FEMALE electrical socket, and thus was guilty of cis-patriarchal privilege.

The Social Justice Noun awoke and began tearing apart the very fabric of space and time.

***

From Chapter One

Tim had already saved Christmas twice this year, and it was very important for Christmas warriors to enjoy their downtime, so he was in the rec room of his Black Tiger Kung Fu Dojo and Mall Santa Prep Academy for Inner City Youths playing Xbox with CorreiaTech CFO and part-time Ghost of Christmas Future-Past, Wendell the Manatee, when Sally Love-Interest joined them.

“Hey, guys. What are you doing?”

“Mooooowhoooooooooo,” Wendell said from inside his giant fish tank. He had to pay extra for water proof controllers.

“Manatees are spawn camping bastards,” Tim complained to his lovely wife. He may have been a mighty Christmas warrior from a long line of Christmas saving warriors, but his Black Tiger Kung Fu skills didn’t translate to Call of Duty.

“Meeeeeeeeeeeen,” Wendell answered, as he brutally no scoped head shot Tim from across the map.

They’d fixed up the local mall since Stabby the Snowman had driven a tank through it, but since Tim had been too busy saving holidays, and there was that whole thing with the restraining order, he’d not stopped by since. “Hey, there’s a Game Hole. I’m going to get a new game.” Tim was tired of being mercilessly beaten by a manatee.

Inside the Game Hole, Tim browsed the new games. He picked out something that had giant fighting robots being driven by hot cartoon Japanese school girls on the cover. “Hey, this looks good,” Tim said.

The clerk joined him. “Yeah, it rocks. There’s chainsaw ninja zombies and a heavy metal soundtrack for the sexy—

EQUALITY! boomed a giant voice with lots of reverb.

“Whoa… Did you hear that?” Tim asked the clerk, but then Tim realized that the clerk had been replaced with a pajama boy wearing ironic glasses and footy pajamas. “Oh no. Not this again.” Then Tim looked down and realized that the awesome video game had magically transformed into something dull that Kotaku had given 11 stars.

“As I was saying,” the pajama boy said, “this walking simulator explores the transsexual dynamics of the paradigm of colonial privilege.”

“I don’t know what any of those words mean.”

“Cispeople!” The exasperated pajama boy rolled his eyes. “It means that everybody your character talks to wants to have gay sex with you.”

“Oh, so it is just like Dragon Age 2 then?” Then Tim realized that all of the games had turned into boring socially conscious crap, designed to satisfy critics and whiners, and he fled the Game Hole in terror.

Tim knew that something was horribly wrong. He would have gone to the movie theater to check, but the North Koreans had already messed it up, so he went to the bookstore to test his suspicions. “Excuse me, do you have any Larry Correia novels?”

“Why yes,” answered the bookstore clerk. “They’re over here in the section where the covers are mostly exploding rocket ships and hot chicks in chainmail bikinis. That is our most popular section. It is so manly that the books literally bleed testosterone down the shelves.”

“Thank goodness. It was just a false alarm.”

DIVERSITY!

The clerk looked around, confused. “Wait a second… They were here, but it appears now all of our books are award winning works designed to raise awareness of important social issues.”

Tim read a few back cover blurbs and discovered that all of the books were about ending binary gender and global warming. “But nobody actually likes reading this preachy stuff. Readers want fun and enjoyment, not checklists.” Then Tim realized that the helpful clerk had suddenly gained an ironic beard and a beret. “Crap.”

Tim got into his fighting stance. It wouldn’t be a Christmas Noun story without lots of violence against a legion of faceless mooks. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but your gingerbread men are no match for my Black Tiger Kung Fu!”

“That’s sexist and abelist! They’re GENDERbread PERSONS!”

***

From Chapter Two

After a brief fight scene, Tim was covered in gingerbread crumbs but otherwise unhurt. All around him the mall was descending into bland, self-righteous, nonsense. The shoppers were transforming into humorless, finger shaking scolds, and then trying to out Social Justice each other. It was like they were being mind-controlled by communist puritans. Tim would have preferred actual zombies.

Luckily, the Social Justice hadn’t spread too far yet. If Tim could find the source of this foulness, he could stop the contagion and rescue Sally Love-Interest (who of course, had been captured already, because that was sort of her thing., and worst of all her captors had already sent Tim tweets lecturing him that the damsel in distress was a sexist stereotype).

***From Chapter Three

There was a Christmas concert in the food court. It was country superstar Darius Rucker singing a beautiful rendition of I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. Luckily, the crowd was still made up of normal people.

TOLERANCE!

Suddenly the crowd turned into Social Justice Warriors, who began to boo and throw things at Darius Rucker. Apparently White Christmas was racist.

“But the song is about snow!” Darius Rucker pleaded for sanity. “Snow is white!”

“Lynch that black man for equality!” shouted a SJW. With a roar the angry mob charged the stage.

Tim still had Hootie and the Blowfish on his playlist, so he wasn’t about to let Darius Rucker get torn apart for Social Justice. So Tim grabbed onto a banner and swung across the mall, pirate style, picking up Darius Rucker just ahead of the mob and saving him in the nick of time. Tim dropped Darius Rucker off at the next balcony.

“What is up with these morons?” country superstar Darius Rucker asked once they were safe.

“I don’t know, but unfortunately for you, current events have drafted you as a special guest star in a Christmas Noun story.”

“No.” Tim handed Darius Rucker one of his .45 automatics. “Really, this thing has like a three pound trigger on it, so be careful you don’t blow your nuts off.”

“Got it. I’m no Lance Henriksen, but I’ll help you save Christmas, Tim.”

***

From Chapter Four

Tim ran through the mall doing his best to stay ahead of the army of genderbread persons. Because it is the new hotness and Tim is an action hero, he was doing all sorts of cool parkour moves, like leaping off balconies and stuff. As he passed the TVs in the electronics store every show on every network had turned into Girls. The sports store had banned football because of toxic masculinity and the dangers of concussions.

Tim took cover beneath a non-binary, non-religious, all-inclusive, winter holiday celebration decoration and called Santa Claus on his cell phone. Tim and Santa were tight.

“Ho Ho Hello, Tim!”

“Santa, we’ve got a Code Red. Social Justice Warriors are taking over Christmas. They’re altering reality somehow and sucking the fun out of everything. It is some sort of mind control thing that causes people to spout gibberish. Call up the Marines and all the Christmas Ghosts. I repeat, Code Red!”

“But Tim, we can’t call it red because the Washington Redskins is a racist macroaggression and red is an aggressive inherently male color. Plus red states are the ones which traditionally house hillbilly-Americans and thus could be seen as a thesis of institutional cis-abelism—”

“No! Not Santa too!” Tim hung up on Santa. This was much worse than he thought. Whatever was happening was perhaps the most dangerous thing to ever threaten Christmas! It was time to call in the big guns.

***From Chapter Six

Wendell was pwning newbs when he got a call from Tim.

“Mehwhoooo?”

“Wendell! I need backup! Get down to the mall ASAP! Bring all the Christmas Ghosts, past, present, future, whatever! Hurry. They’re about to—”

The call was disconnected. Wendell sighed and went back to his game. He’d get down to the mall in a minute, but his team only needed a few more points to win this round of domination and he was on one heck of a kill streak. “Hoooooon. Gurgle. Gurgle.” Wendell smack talked with the best of them. Then he tea bagged the corpse he’d just murdered to rub the humiliation in.

Suddenly there was a great disturbance in Xbox Live, as if a million foul mouthed twelve year olds cried out in terror… and were suddenly silenced.

A voice filled the internet. “Hello, gamers. After our successful struggle against the patriarchy, violent cis-abelist games have been banned because of their toxic masculinity. From now on games will be all about important social messages and education. Now enjoy your complimentary copy of Depression Quest.”

“Mehoooowhoooooooooon…” Wendell stated ominously as he got the keys to his monster truck. Now it was personal.

***

From Chapter Eight

Christmas was about spreading joy and love, but SJWs only cared about spreading guilt and misery. Tim shed a single manly tear as he had his plot-necessary Profound Christmas Spirit Realization Moment.

The mall was a scene of absolute horror. The SJWs had gone from finger shaking scolding to eating each other in a cannibal frenzy. Even though everything had been forced to confirm to their statist view of the world, the SJWs had become addicted to being victims, so had to continually find new sources of outrage. Books that catered to Social Justice causes before suddenly weren’t devoted enough to some new cause, and so the previously approved authors were burned at the stake.

Suddenly minorities weren’t “authentic”. Men who agreed with SJWs were “mansplaining”. Anybody who deviated slightly from the accepted group think was committing “gentrification”. Basically, everybody was guilty of some buzz word and needed to be punished. Once the SJWs were in charge, everything turned to chaos.

Tim would have said it was a very Lord of the Flies moment, only the SJWs had destroyed every copy of Lord of the Flies because of its lack of female and transsexual characters and fat shaming the Character Formerly Known as Piggy.

***

EDITOR’S NOTE – What have I done? The Social Justice Noun is too powerful. It is bleeding into other realities and dimensions. I’m afraid the SJN has intruded into the real world like some sort of Lovecraftian—wait… Who is Lovecraft? I think he was the old white cismale who was replaced with Octavia Butler. I must warn everyone! I must warn them about… cismale gendernormative fascism. Let me try again. Warn everyone about… fat shaming for transqueer abelists. Wait… That isn’t what I meant to type. Cisgendernormative hate monger neck beard. AH! It is too late! Tim is our only hope!

***From Chapter Ten

Tim, Sally, and Darius Rucker had taken cover as the SJWs inevitably turned on each other in violent purges.

“No! You’re invading MY Non-Binary Gender Segregated Safe Zone!” wailed the other. “Rape culture!” Then they began to blow their whistles at each other. Eventually GenderBread Persons came and hauled both of them off to the gulags for “reeducation”.

“There’s the source of all this.” Tim pointed toward the Social Justice Noun, which was hovering angrily over the mall. “But every time I try to approach it, I get blocked by an invisible force field that demands I Check my Privilege. Even though I grew up dirt poor and Christmas killed my whole family, apparently I’ve got action hero privilege.”

“I tried, but I’ve got pretty girl privilege,” Sally said sadly.

“I’m a rock star and a country music star,” Darius Rucker apologized. “Sorry, Tim.”

“Darn it! It is almost like no matter what SJWs have made it so the nefarious concept of “privilege” is always there to make sure anything you say or do is dismissed. We need someone who is immune to their evil magic!”

Suddenly there was a crash as a monster truck plowed through the mall. Wendell the manatee parked his monster truck through the front of the Orange Julius and got out. He had painted half his face blue like on Braveheart. Wendell’s fish tank was mounted inside a CorreiaTech cybernetic battle suit. “Hoooooooooooooon!” Wendell let out the battle cry of his people.

“Wendell!” Tim shouted. “You’ve got to try to get through the force field of privilege!”

Wendell nodded in grim determination and set out toward the Social Justice Noun. The GenderBread Persons saw what was happening and tried to stop them. Tim launched into a furious assault of kung-fu shootery! (EDITOR’S NOTE: Shootery is as much a real word as gendernormative! Go Wendell!)

Only Wendell was a mighty Christmas warrior, upheld by the global warming power of love and the Christmas Noun. “HOOOOOOON!”

Only the Social Justice Noun didn’t recognize Manatee. In fact, like most Social Justice things it was a product of snooty white suburban academics. “CULTURAL APPROPRIATION!” Lightning bolts struck Wendell.

But luckily, Wendell’s battle suit was equipped with a voice translator. Wendell turned it on. It made him sound just like Stephen Hawking. “I am an aquatic-American.”

The Social Justice Noun burst into flames. It immediately apologized for the carbon footprint, but counterattacked with “INATHENTIC HOUSE MANATEE!”

Only Wendell was far too clever for such games. “I live in the ocean. I do not have house privilege.” Wendell battled on through the self-righteous onslaught.

“I am a mammal that lives in the ocean. I require a protective layer of blubber to keep me warm. Why are you fat shaming me?”

The Social Justice Noun was getting desperate and used its ultimate weapon. “RACE CARD!”

But Wendell was ready. He mashed one flipper down on the Big Red Button.

“Endangered Species Card…”

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” The Social Justice Noun had been hopelessly out-victimed. “TRIGGER WARNING! TRIGGER WAR—” Then there was a terrible explosion.

The privilege field went down. Tim leapt through the swirling smoke and sparks to a sweet heavy metal guitar riff, and karate chopped the Social Justice Noun with the power of the Christmas Noun!

(insert dramatic explosions here)

***

Final Epilogue Narrated by Ron Perlman

Christmas was saved and reality was restored.

After the Social Justice Noun was destroyed, Santa quickly returned to normal. Some embarrassing mix ups remained in place however, and many children on the Nice List were accidentally given Lena Dunham’s autobiography for Christmas. Santa apologized profusely for this horrific error and created a special task force of elves to investigate the matter.

Darius Rucker retired from Christmas warrioring. He remains friends with Tim on Facebook.

Frank, the capitalist republican who had to turn on the Social Justice Noun for the helpless SJWs, was disappointed when their check bounced.

Xbox Live returned to being a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Wendell wouldn’t have it any other way.

The surviving Social Justice Warriors took to Twitter to complain about literally everything. They remain useless, bossy, and convinced that everyone is having fun wrong.

Wendell the Manatee continues to serve as CFO of CorreiaTech. He was nominated for Time Magazine’s Person of the Year, but lost to the Ferguson Protestors. The National Enquirer recently alleged that Wendell is involved in a relationship with supermodel Kate Upton.

Tim and Sally Love-Interest returned to their Black Tiger Kung Fu Dojo and Mall Santa Prep Academy for Inner City Youths to enjoy Christmas together. For Christmas, Sally got Tim one of those rocket scientist bowling shirts with the sexy ladies printed on it that the SJWs hated so much, and Dragon Age 3, but Tim vowed that if this one sucked like the last one, he was writing BioWare off forever.

Hmm, I just had an evil thought – this story should be eligible to be nominated in the short story category for the Hugos, and it typically takes a lot fewer nominations to get in that category than the longer fiction ones…

It’s totally eligible for a Hugo short story nomination, per the rules.

Last year John Chu’s story THE WATER THAT FALLS ON YOU FROM NOWHERE was the final-ballot entry with the lowest number of nominations, at 43, just barely making the 5% threshold. Sarah Hoyt’s short story DOG’S BODY just missed the ballot with 38 nominations, through failing to clear the 5% threshold. (Chu’s story won the Hugo.)

Of the four fiction awards, the short story category had the second most nominations (865) after Best Novel (1595). Best Novelette had the fewest nominations in the fiction awards, at 752. Best Novella had 847.

As The Christmas Noun series is mostly kids friendly, except in the parts where it is kid-incomprehensible-but-sly-joke-to-the-reading-parent, I think it should be a large format illustrated book. (Like “Monster Eat Whiny Children”, which is now one of my kids’ favorite bedtime stories, but my only favorite bedtime story.)

Illustrated by the same bunch of guys that did 80s heavy metal album covers, of course.

Shortly after Obama was elected, John Stewart did a skit in which one of his guests found out that his Race Card was maxed out and couldn’t be used anymore. If only…

On another note, haven’t been able to check out Dragon Age 3 due to a computer that needs to be replaced. But the thing that I find ironic about Dragon Age 2’s all bi-sexual love interest party member cast is that Mass Effect 2, the extremely popular Bioware game that preceded it, was the last Bioware game to not have any same-sex love interests.

“Tim would have said it was a very Lord of the Flies moment, only the SJWs had destroyed every copy of Lord of the Flies because of its lack of female and transsexual characters and fat shaming the Character Formerly Known as Piggy.”

The White Christmas thing reminded me of something. My cousin’s wife used to have a tradition of inviting friends over every year to watch the movie White Christmas. She called it, obviously, her White Christmas party.

I think that kind of thing happens precisely because most people just don’t think about race anymore. We speak to non-white people as if they were just, you know, people–and only after words are out of our mouths and funny looks are given do we realize that what we said sounded odd. (Kind of like how Dick on 3rd Rock From the Sun had to keep being reminded that Nina was black.)

My only complaint is that there’s no way Frank would have characterized his degree as a “STEM degree.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard the term “STEM” outside of the context of people complaining that there aren’t enough women involved in it.

Maybe a board game. Based on the game of life. With the end goal being to retire with full disability from a government job, or get tenure as a professor in a gender or minority studies department at a college?

[…] exception. This year, though, can Tim save Christmas from the reality-warping horror that is…Attack of the Social Justice Noun? Features guest stars Darius Rucker and Wendell the Manatee. Fire TV […]

Funny how when a group of terrorists threaten, Hollywood (which talks a big game towards Those Evil Flyover State Riffraff) crumples like a damp dish rag.

Funnier still how the Anti-Oppression crowd, when an ENTIRE INDUSTRY is suddenly oppressed, can only bellyache about emails that reveal Hollywood is made up of flawed ordinary people who make flawed ordinary decisions as the WORST THING EVER.

PS: I’d totally love a barrel of Cheetos.The kind that don’t have a secondary flavor. They only have bacon-and-cheese here. ;_; (Yes, sometimes, I like stuff that doesn’t have the flavor of bacon. Very rarely. This is one of ’em.)

Dude, you really need to put in a “Trigger Warning for Larry Corriea fans” at the beginning f things like this. Laughing histerically while eating breakfast at my favorite (independent) coffee shop leads to some really awkward moments with the staff. Even more so because I live in a very “Liberal”. And while I an quite willing to disturb their equilibrium a little bit, I’m taking the long view on breaking them of their Liberal habituations.

Thank you,sir! You have again brought hilarity to our house, as I gather the children around for the annual reading-aloud of The Christmas Noun. Awesome! Blessings to you and yours from out here in SJW-occupied N. Calif.

I had just reread the first six Christmas noun stories for about the seventeenth time, when this one came out. Thank you!!

I was really wondering how you’d be able to top the Affordable Christmas Act. Damn. You just keep pulling rabbits, manatees, even [bleep]ing man purse-weilding Pajama Boys out of your magician’s hat. Thanks for the Christmas cheer!